


spa day

by desla_be



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christine is mischievous, Erik is a Sweetheart, F/M, Light Angst, Massage, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, One Shot, POV Christine, POV Erik, Sexual Tension, Spa Treatments, christine works at a spa, erik has never been to a spa and has no clue what’s going on, erik is very concerned about being naked in a room with christine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28435806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desla_be/pseuds/desla_be
Summary: Christine invites Erik to a massage treatment at the spa that she works at because she has a fat crush on him and wants to finally figure out for sure how he feels about her.Erik is terrified that this event is going to result in obscene humiliation, or some other horrendous disaster, but he goes because Christine has invited him and he adores her. He has no idea how spas work and is very confused and on edge the whole time.
Relationships: Christine Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 18
Kudos: 63





	spa day

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer that this is not a realistic account of what an actual professional massage would be like, and has been tampered with for fic purposes.

A small lady with yellow hair and dark brown eyes held the door open for Erik timidly as she stepped out from the salon. He bowed his head and thanked her, and walked into the building. 

Wordless music filled the lobby, and the air smelled like vanilla. There were people in there— too many of them, he thought immediately, feeling the small hairs on the back of his neck rise as someone walked past him. 

“May I help you, _monsieur_?” called a woman behind the tall chestnut counter to the side of the room, staring at Erik, who had taken a whole three steps into the building and then proceeded to freeze in front of the door like a deer in the road. 

He walked by two people seated in leather lounge chairs, and then another person hidden by a humongous potted plant, and then yet _another_ three people crowded by the magazine rack. Each and every one of their eyes shot directly and unapologetically to his mask. 

Erik straightened, annoyed yet unsurprised, and approached the woman at the counter. Her eyes stopped at his mask as well.

“Hello,” he placed his hands on the wooden front of the desk, though she couldn’t see him. “I’m here for a… massage. I have an appointment.” 

The woman did something on her computer and he heard the mouse’s small click. “What’s the name?” She reached to her left and grabbed a paper from a stack on the desk.

“Erik,” he said, beginning to tap his foot quietly on the thick rug that ran throughout the room. 

“Erik,” she repeated, writing it down on the paper and then looking at her computer again. He watched as she spelled it incorrectly, with a _c_ instead of a _k._ “At ten o’clock?” 

“ _Oui._ ” 

She wrote that on the paper as well. “And that’s with our masseuse Christine?” 

“ _Oui_ ,” he swallowed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a black wallet. 

“This is your first massage, correct?”

“ _Oui, madame,_ ” he took out a credit card and played with the flexible plastic as he waited. 

“It says here that a coupon has been applied. Your treatment is complimentary.” 

Erik blinked. Christine had mentioned that she was going to get him a discount but he hadn’t realized that it was going to be completely _free_. 

“All right,” she said. A tag beneath her collar said _Alice_. She passed the paper to him along with a ballpoint pen from a cup. “Fill that out, please. You can sit if you’d like to.” 

Erik sat down on the other side of the room with the paper, pulling a magazine into his lap to write on. _Completely free_ , he thought, wondering if that was normal for first-time customers. The first two sections were his personal and medical information— things like his phone number and birthdate, past injuries, whether or not he smoked and what medications he was on, if any.

Next it was the details about the massage; inquiries about if he’d had professional massages before and the pressures he preferred, if he had any specific sensitivities. No, he’d never had a _professional_ massage before, he hadn’t had _any_ sort of massage before. Erik didn’t know how to answer any of this! He’d only booked this appointment because Christine had recommended it; she’d said that he didn’t need to have specific pains to receive a massage, that he could just do it for relaxation. She had been so... persuasive, like she really cared about his well-being, and that had been enough for him. 

He frantically checked off the box for medium pressure, worried that she was going to appear out of thin air and that he would still be stuck on the first question. But then a thought struck him: what if medium wasn’t good enough? What if Christine’s medium pressure was actually only very light pressure, and he couldn’t feel anything at all? Erik put a check into the deep pressure box. He thought that would be just fine… but then he noticed that the light pressure box was left sadly unchecked. 

It was just a small square on a piece of paper, so really it should’ve meant less than nothing to Erik whether or not it was checked off. However, even as he moved along to the next section, all he could see in his peripheral vision was that unchecked box staring at him, so ultimately he drew a sharp line in its center. Maybe light pressure would be nice, he thought. Only now _all_ of the boxes were checked! How would Christine know which pressure he wanted if all of the boxes were checked off? 

The opening of a door to his side made Erik jump in his seat. Not Christine, he realized when he glanced to see who it was, but she could be here any minute now, and he had to finish filling out this damned form!

The next question was as to whether he was allergic to any lotions or oils. _No_ , he wrote, a cursive scribble. 

And then, sketches of a human figure from four angles— front, back, left, right. The prompt inquired as to whether or not he had any sensitive places, or areas that he did not want to be massaged. 

Erik stared at the small figure drawing, looking at the back, the arms, the legs, shuddering as he thought about being touched in those places, and by _Christine_ , no less! They’d shared many congratulatory, energetic hugs over their time in the opera house, and several customary kisses on the cheek (mask, in his case)... but this was going to be much different. This wasn’t a societal normalcy, or time spent together because they both loved to sing— this was, he expected, going to be much more intimate than any slight physical contact he’d ever experienced. 

Erik straightened on the sofa chair, his paper in his lap. He thought about Christine touching him— _touching... him_ — and he considered that perhaps she… well, what if she didn’t want to?

Of course, _she_ had invited him here, so it seemed that perhaps she didn’t mind the thought of physical contact with him, or didn’t believe that she would mind… but what if she did…? What if she brought him into her massage room and then was so disgusted that she couldn’t even go through with it? The possibility made Erik’s stomach turn. It was hard enough collecting the courage to book this appointment at all— his only token of encouragement that she had practically _asked_ him to— but such personal rejection he would not be able to take, not from her, not after an invitation. 

He didn’t hear the door open.

“Erik?” 

Startled by the sound, he jerked to the side. “Christine,” he stammered, clenching his fist around the plastic Papermate pen. He jumped to his feet. 

She glanced over him and smiled, “Suit as always. You look lovely.” 

His skin went hot, and he wondered if she could tell through the mask. Perhaps she had some sort of xx-ray vision that let her detect whether or not people were blushing. “Thank you,” he sputtered. Erik opened his blazer and pulled a rose from the inside. “I brought this for you,” he forced himself to push the flower into her hands. 

Christine’s eyes went big. “Oh, Erik,” she wrapped her fingers around the stem and looked at it with an adoration that he could only _hope_ to be on the receiving end of. She lifted it to her nose, perhaps more an instinctual force of habit than genuine curiosity, as he gave her a rose whenever he knew he’d be seeing her. “Thank you.” 

“Mm hmm,” he mumbled, struggling to stop a tremble from forming in his legs. 

“Shall we?” she pointed towards the set of double doors. 

“I didn’t finish the form,” he spun, his black blazer opening up, and pointed to the chair in which he’d been sitting. 

“That’s okay,” she waved her hand. “As long as your medical information is filled out, we’re good to go. The rest is just a little questionnaire to see what you like, and what your preferences are.” 

“Oh, ok.” His _preferences_ , Erik thought, head spinning. There was no time to think about that. He walked back around the chair, nearly tripping over his shoelaces. No— not his shoelaces— he was wearing _oxfords_ ; the laces were closed— it wasn’t even _possible_ for him to trip over those! What was going on! Oh, seeing her had jumbled everything up... he needed to sit back down... 

Erik took a deep breath. He was sweating under this miserable mask; it was probably the lighting, he thought. 

He bent to pick up the paper and handed it to Christine, his hands clammy. 

She smiled at him (and whenever she did that it made him feel like he had spontaneously combusted) and delivered the paper to the woman at the front desk. 

“Shall we?” said Christine, gesturing toward the set of taupe double doors. 

Erik nodded, rubbing his hands off on the fronts of his thighs and following after her. 

They walked down a long, dimly lit hall with several doors on both the left and right walls. The hall turned at the end— wherever it led to, a mystery, since Christine directed him to the third door on the right. 

The small room opened into near blackness; it was lit only with a few wall lamps. There was a long, narrow bed in the center, and adjacent countertops on the far and left walls. While there were plenty of things visible on the countertops, he could only make out a few: a wicker basket of white towels, a caddy full of varied containers, and one of those potpourri vases. 

Christine stood in the doorway. “You can change out of your clothes and get settled under the blanket, on your back to start off with. I’ll give you a few minutes to undress and then I’ll knock.” 

“Okay,” said Erik, swallowing as she shut the door behind her. 

Really he’d never done anything like this before. What was he supposed to change out of, exactly? Everything? Certainly she wouldn’t ask him to take his _mask_ off. Out of his suit, and leave his underclothes on? That seemed like a good plan, he thought. He thought it would be a bit odd to be entirely naked on that little bed with her (or anyone else) in the room with him, but he also assumed she hadn’t meant for him to only take off his blazer. 

_Oh no_ , Erik stood with his fingers curled around the edges of his suit jacket— what if she _had_ only meant for him to take his very outer layer off? He’d seen people hug with their clothes on all the time in the city streets, and they weren’t even strangers… so why then would two people who might’ve been strangers engage in a scenario like this, where one would be subject to such close contact with a nude or nearly-nude human being? The concept of that made Erik uncomfortable, he didn’t like that at all, and he liked even less that now he wasn’t sure if she expected him to take off his suit jacket only... or everything save for his underclothes... or everything _including_ his underclothes. 

He walked over to the door and opened it, not quite prepared to see Christine waiting patiently just outside, her rose perched at her lips as she all but listened for the soft rustling of his undressing. 

It was clear by her expression when she saw him emerge in the door frame that she had not been expecting this. “Erik,” she said, “is everything all right?” 

Erik bit his lip nervously. “Christine,” he began, “I’m unsure of what exactly you mean when you say to change out of my clothes.” 

Christine raised her eyebrows gently. “Oh… usually our guests like to undress,” she explained. “It’s typical that they’re on the massage table nude or in their underwear, sometimes shorts or yoga pants and a top. You can take off as much or little as you’re comfortable with.” 

There was a redness on her cheeks when she spoke; he had embarrassed her! That was not his intention, although he was quite fond of the colors that the blush brought out in her skin and in her eyes. 

“All right,” said Erik, closing the door again with shaking hands. 

So he _was_ supposed to take off more than just his suit jacket. He knew it!— how it would’ve been easier if he’d just listened to himself the first time!

Erik slipped out of his shoes and pushed them to the side of the room. He put his suit jacket on a hanger and then paused, worried about snooping eyes as he planned to remove his clean white button-up and tall black trousers. 

He was forced to change awkwardly in the open air, shredding down to black underwear before turning over an ultra soft blanket and climbing onto the long bed. His weight dipped effortlessly into the mattress, and the bed didn’t make a sound as he moved to lay down. The bed was warm under his back; the mattress was clearly heated. 

He pulled the blanket up to his chest and waited for a few moments until a gentle knock came against the door. 

_“Oui,”_ said Erik, already paralyzed with fear because she was going to come into the room and he was... nearly... _naked_. 

The door creaked open gently. The angle that the bed was tilted at let him see her as she walked soundlessly into the room and closed the door again behind her. 

“Are you comfortable?” she asked. 

“ _Oui,_ ” he breathed, looking up at the ceiling through the shadow of his mask. 

“Perfect. To review, you’re not allergic to any lotions or oils?” 

“No.” 

“And you have no sensitive areas that you’d like to be excluded from treatment?” 

“No,” said Erik, toying with the edges of the blanket. 

“Lovely. And you selected light, medium and deep pressure— do you have any specific preference?” 

“I wasn’t sure which to choose...” he admitted nervously. “I think I would like... firm pressure.” 

“All right,” said Christine. “If at any point you would like me to go lighter or deeper just let me know and I’ll adjust, okay?” 

“Okay,” Erik agreed, his heart pounding madly.

“Would you prefer scented or unscented massage oil?” she asked. 

Erik tilted his head to the side to look at her, watching as she moved bottles around in the caddy. Her hair was so pretty, he thought, even in the dark. _Especially_ in the dark. “May I smell the scented oil?” he asked, rubbing the sweat off of his fingers beneath the blanket. 

Christine opened a bottle and he heard a little _glonk glonk glonk._ The glass _clank_ ed against the counter again, and she spun around, presenting the back of her wrist to his nose. The scent was nutty, and sweet... a little smoky. 

“That’s nice,” Erik closed his eyes. “I’d like that.” 

She set the bottle back on the counter and walked behind him. “I’m going to turn a few more of these lights off, is that okay?” 

“ _Oui_ ,” said Erik, shifting his feet. 

There was a gentle click, and another, and half of the light fell away from the room. He tilted his head back, seeing through the shadow of his mask that only two small lights in the back corners were left on. 

Christine came back around the bed, moving to his side. “I’m going to start with your leg,” she said, sort of quietly— he assumed this was for ‘relaxation purposes’ though he’d spent plenty of time listening to her voice and she didn’t have to alter it at _all_ for his sake. 

“Erik?” she asked, and he realized with horror that she’d said something and he hadn’t heard it! Too many thoughts!

“My apologies, Christine, my head was elsewhere. What did you say?” 

“Is it okay that I move the drape?” 

“ _Oui_ , _oui_ ” he consented, feeling her not a moment after lifting up the blanket off of his leg and tucking the bunched fabric between his knees. Erik shivered when he felt the air touch his skin which was so rarely exposed like this, and he nearly had an aneurysm when her fingers slid across his thigh to push the extra fabric aside. 

Christine placed her hand on his leg fully, and then the other as well— one cupping beneath the thigh and the other reaching under his knee. She pulled his leg out to the edge of the bed, giving herself more room to work with it, and tucked the blankets in carefully yet again. 

She pulled her hands back— and how her touch was like a drug!— and as soon as she moved away he was left craving it back again. There was a heat above his leg a moment later, a steaminess, and then much stronger as she laid a hot towel on his leg, soaking his skin with warmth. The towel started at the front of his thigh and she curled her fingers under the edges, dragging it down to his foot. 

Christine backed away, leaving him again in an alarmed state of withdrawal. His eyes opened, looking around for her, wondering if she was already disgusted with him and wanted to end their session… but he couldn’t see anything now! It was too dark. 

The dull sound of a bottle pressing against the counter made his ear perk as he waited again for her hands to arrive, and she came back over, pressing warm, oily fingers to his legs and causing him to jolt with panic. 

Christine froze. “Everything okay?” she asked, her voice continuing to lack possession of any of the gusto that fused their weekly lessons. 

“I... thought that you had left,” Erik admitted despite himself, leaning up to see her silhouette in front of his feet. 

“Left?” she repeated, surprise plain in her voice. “No, Erik, I’m here.” 

He let his head rest again, shutting his eyes as she massaged that sweet oil into his leg, kneading his flesh and leaving his muscles defenseless to bliss. 

She rolled her fists against his thigh, pushing her knuckles in deeply. Erik nearly moaned. He nearly _moaned!_ — Right there on the massage bed in front of her, how improper that would’ve been! Hanging by a thread, he managed to keep himself from behaving so obscenely in her company, cinching his mouth shut in horror as to prevent himself from again nearing such a nightmarish possibility. 

“Is this good pressure?” she asked, emphasizing with her touch. 

Erik swallowed, tingling where her gentle fingers caressed him. “ _Oui_. Perfect.” 

He had considered a situation like this— the possibility of becoming aroused at this appointment— though he did not think that it would happen quite so soon. Luckily the blanket over him was somewhat weighted, so his hardness wasn’t quite so pronounced, though when he opened his eyes and glanced down he could see a bulge at his center. 

Erik began to pant, horrified. Sweat trickled into his palms. He hoped dearly that she couldn’t notice!— Though his suspicions were aroused when her fingers stilled on his skin for a long moment, seeming unsure. 

Christine pressed forth after a minute, as though nothing had happened. Her fingertips dug into his body and overwhelmed him with more physical contact than he’d received in his entire lifetime, he was certain; his mother could hardly bear to look at him, and there’d never been any women… None but her, and the small touches they shared. 

_Retirement plans_ , thought Erik. _Assets_. He would think about those droll subjects and hope desperately for his erection to subside. 

But it was nearly _impossible!_ How could he think about anything except for the firmness of her gentle touches? This was more intimacy than he knew how to withstand after so many years of starvation, and he couldn’t very well distract himself from that fact with fucking _retirement plans_. 

She drew her fingers tightly around his calf, squeezing the muscles as she pulled his leg outwards until her forefingers curled at his heel. Christine took one hand away from him, the other returning a moment later with a hot rag for his foot. 

Erik hitched a breath as the edges of the towel slapped against his sole. 

Her hands wrapped around the rag, the warmth and moisture soaking into his skin before she pulled it along loosely, dragging the ordeal out by wringing it back and forth over his foot as he tried not to jerk. 

Eventually her fingers came around underneath, tapping on the sole of his foot and dragging towards his toes and at that point he couldn’t stop himself from wrenching his foot back in protest. 

Christine made a small noise that he could only assume was a chuckle. “Erik, are you ticklish?” she asked, her hands stilling. After a moment she pulled the towel back. “It’s okay,” said Christine. “Most clients are, I just didn’t take you for the type. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” 

The tickling, that was what did it at last— the impossible distraction of laughter. Much better, he thought, than assets. Erik laid still as he felt the pressure withdrawing from his hardness, impossibly mortified that he had presented himself so provocatively in the first place, but relieved that it was gone. 

He laid patiently as she massaged his foot, still feeling somewhat anxious about the speed in which her touch was making the blood course through his body. Before he knew it, she was pushing the drape over his leg again, pulling the other one out from underneath the blanket. 

The procedure for the second leg was exquisitely similar; the same sliding back and forth across his leg, circling her fingers over his knee, kneading his thigh. 

“Erik?” said Christine, unsure. 

“Oui, Christine?” 

“As _Madama Butterfly_ nears, I wonder if we could have more lessons over the next few weeks.” 

“ _More?_ ” They already met _twice_ a week since her rehearsals began. “How much more often do you hope to meet?” although surprised, Erik’s heart fluttered madly at the notion that she wanted to be in his company more... even if it was strictly professional. 

“I was thinking thrice a week,” she suggested. 

“Thrice a week,” he repeated. “All right.” It’s not like he couldn’t fit it into his schedule, and he’d be a right fool to pass up time with her. “But we’ll have to reorganize the sessions— you must be careful not to strain your voice, especially with a production so close.” 

“Wonderful, thank you, Erik,” he could hear in her tone that she was smiling, and that made him smile, too. She pulled the drape out from between his knees and laid it over his leg.

The water began to run, sloshing in the sink as its path was altered by her hands, and then it stopped. Christine walked to the other side of the bed. She reached to where the blanket rested at the top of his chest and rolled it back, draping it over his lap without the courteous tries for consent in which she’d unveiled his legs. 

Erik’s breath hitched as the air touched his bare chest, his stomach… his sides. 

There was no hot towel this time, only her already warm hands and the slick massage oil. His heart raced when she pressed her fingers into his middle, each cell in his body bursting into flames under her touch. This wasn’t going to work! Before he knew it, the hardness would be back again; he could already feel it creeping in. 

Christine pressed her hands deeply to his chest and he let out an audible groan. 

“Sorry!” she yelped, withdrawing her touch. “Did I hurt you? Was that too much pressure?” 

“No,” Erik breathed, trying to relax— trying not to make an even bigger show of himself. For heaven’s sake, what could he even say to justify such a noise? Certainly not that he was having a fit of euphoria because he was in love with her, or that he was simply overwhelmed because he’d never been touched like this by anyone before. Becoming accidentally aroused on the bed a foot away from her while she touched him was one thing, but to go further than that— to openly allude to his affection for her— would be downright inappropriate. 

“The pressure is fine,” he added, voice breaking as her fingers pressed into the soft hollow between his collar and shoulder, delicately knocking the breath out of him. 

Christine’s hands lingered on his skin. Each time she would press one into him, condensing his flesh under soft, warm fingers, her second hand would follow behind, smoothing down over him as the other lifted up, behaving such as a pair of leap frogs. Of course, her touch was _nothing_ like leap frogs, nor did leap frogs possess the keen ability to tent his trousers and turn him to putty as she did. 

Erik let his head tilt back as far as it could go, exposing his neck fully as she stretched her hands along the front of him. The smell of the massage oil rose up under his nostrils, both the warm smokiness and the heat of his body making the air in the small room very thick, so thick it was almost difficult to breathe. Of course, that could’ve been courtesy of his mask blockading his respiration, as well, as that happened sometimes, too. Taking it off was not an option. 

He let his mouth remain open, his lips parted, not bothering to close them once again because each time her fingers grazed sweetly over his skin (which was constantly), he would be subject to an unwilling pant. 

Erik’s feet shifted under the drapes and he allowed his sweaty legs to part a little further. The music was wordless; enough to relax him but nothing compared to the tranquility of Christine’s voice or the serene notes of his piano. 

The fight between his gaze and the soft yellow light on the ceiling was long past that of exhaustion, and when her fingers danced up his neck and tickled him behind the ear, he succumbed to a gentle shudder and closed his eyes. 

*****

Christine was quite certain that, well... that Erik had fallen asleep. 

It was hard to tell _exactly_ whether or not this was the case because of the elusiveness of the shadows that the mask cast on his face, but based on the steady, restful pattern of his breathing, and the way that his arms dangled limply off the edges of the massage bed, it was safe to say that he had fallen asleep. 

Of course, it wouldn’t have been the first time this happened with a client!— It was very usual for clients to fall asleep during the massage, Christine knew. It was also normal for clients to... specifically of Erik’s sex, to… become aroused during appointments. 

Normally the occurrence of a client getting a hard-on on the massage bed made her very uncomfortable, as those instances also had themes of being followed up by lewd commentary, but she knew that Erik wasn’t one of those types of people. For God’s sake, he was the most well-mannered person that she knew! Christine’s heart fluttered when she looked over at the rose on the countertop. 

Besides, well… she was sort of flattered to have such an effect on Erik. He was always too proper to be flustered in public, too composed and controlled to present Christine with any more affection than a clean red rose and a chaste kiss on the cheek. 

Really he was just so _stiff_ all the time. It was always Christine to be the one to place her hand on his when excitement got the best of her, or to throw her arms around him in the event of a musical breakthrough, or to lay a kiss on his masked cheek after a performance. 

It was always her… but really it couldn’t have been an ounce clearer that he was _mad_ about her. He just didn’t seem able to comprehend, apparently— despite all of her hugs and kisses and notes of adoration— that she was also mad about him. Not even after she’d asked for two lessons a week, or invited him to a complimentary massage given by _her_ , for God’s sake! For the clever man that he was, Erik really couldn’t catch a hint!

In hindsight maybe inviting him to this appointment wasn’t Christine’s brightest idea. She’d insisted that it was complimentary because she wasn’t comfortable with Erik paying for something like this… something that was, by default, too familiar, and that… well, that she was as eager for as he seemed to be. The notion of him being on her massage table, of having her hands on his bare skin, excited her, so much so that it’d cost her a fair amount of sleep over the past few nights. 

So, really, she wasn’t so scandalized as to have witnessed him get hard on the bed. However, her nerves were wracked with the ethics of the situation. If her manager knew about the specifics of this appointment and her relationship with Erik, Christine knew she’d be furious. Christine didn’t tell her. 

Erik’s hand twitched on the edge of the bed. 

She took the blanket from where it rested at his waist and drew it up to his shoulders. 

He was still asleep, she realized, a bit guilty about having to wake him up so that he could change to lay on his belly. He looked so peaceful! Along with massage-induced boners, it was also a regular occurrence for clients to fall asleep on the table. Waking them up always made her a little sad, but they were paying for her time, and being awake was, well, the best part of the massage, _obviously_. Naps were always very lovely, but usually clients didn’t pay to nap for an hour or two. Of course, Erik _wasn’t_ paying for this, but that wasn’t really the point, was it?

Christine kneaded his biceps a little deeper than she usually would’ve, hoping to wake him up a bit more naturally. 

Erik remained still aside from one small finger twitch. 

Christine sighed. She nudged his shoulder once, then twice with the points of two fingers and he jolted, a pair of soft sleepy eyes opening, downcast by a dark shadow inside his mask. 

“Christine?” he mumbled, glancing around— alarmed, it seemed, to discover himself shirtless. “I fell asleep! My dearest apologies,” he rubbed his eyes through the mask, ethereal voice lilting serenely. 

“No, Erik, don’t be sorry. You were just relaxed! I wanted you to be relaxed. I just woke you up to ask if you could turn onto your front side.”

“Oh,” he breathed, eyelids continuing to flutter open and close gently as though at any moment now he could drift easily back into the lovely dreamland she’d induced with soft lighting and delicate caresses. Christine wondered if maybe he’d gotten just as little sleep as she had, excited by the prospect of this meeting. 

She waited patiently for him to gather himself, hands clasped as she watched him come down from his pacific slumber. 

Erik took a sweet sigh, his limbs quivering graciously as he stretched his spine along the massage bed. He stilled again, looking up at her curiously through the carefully cut holes of his mask. 

“I’ll hold the fabric up,” said Christine, grabbing the edges of the blanket he rested under and lifting them up to a hover above his chest, “and you can turn onto your stomach.” 

He let out a final sleepy exhale before placing his fingers into a solid grip at the edge of the bed, using the leverage to turn himself over until he was at a comfortable rest. 

Only, Christine realized almost immediately, he wasn’t comfortable. From the moment he tried to lay his face down at the front of the bed, he continued to lift his head up, repeatedly readjusting to see how he might find a harmonic solution. He stilled for a moment, deciding to move forward and lay his head off of the bed. 

Christine’s hand shot out to his shoulder, “No! Erik,” she said, “that won’t be comfortable at all.” 

He turned to look up at her, seemingly puzzled as to what to do. 

“You can… take your mask off,” she suggested in a small voice, already sure of what his answer was going to be. 

Immediately Erik began shaking his head. 

“Really,” Christine continued, “I can turn the light off… and I wouldn’t see you at all, you’ll still be laying face down. And your mask can stay right next to you… I think it’ll be most comfortable for you like that,” she suggested. 

His beautiful mismatched eyes filled with dreadful uncertainty, darkening under the mask. She watched as he took his arm out from the blanket and ran his fingers gently over the thick material, hand visibly shaking. 

Christine’s heart leapt at the sight of his uneasiness. She walked swiftly to the back wall of the small room, flicking off the light in one corner and watching for his expression. He didn’t give any sign of protest, so she moved a few steps over to the neighboring light in the opposite corner— the last source of illumination in the room— and reached her fingers out toward it. Erik gave her a small nod of consent, and she flicked the final light off with an audible _click_. The room fell into utter blackness. 

“We can keep the lights off until the end of the appointment,” she said. “I promise that I won’t look at you if you don’t want me to.” 

Careful not to accidentally run into the massage bed, Christine weaved through the countertops and the bed he laid on, reaching her fingers out to gauge where he was. 

There was a gentle rustle that could be heard beneath the instrumentals that came softly through the speaker on the wall, and then the small sound of the cotton sheets moving. 

“Are you settled?” she asked in the same small voice that she always used during appointments, thoughtful not to disrupt the relaxation of the clients.

“ _Oui_ ,” said Erik in a small, shaking voice of his own that made her heart leap anew. 

Christine reached out, feeling blindly for the blanket that laid over his back by the edges and drawing it up. She pulled it along his back, her breath catching as she folded the edge down past his hips, laying the fabric across the curve of his butt. 

She turned for a moment towards the countertop, grabbing intuitively for her bottle of massage oil. It took a moment to uncap it again, her fingers already having been rather oily, and then she let a thin stream drip onto his skin. 

Christine pushed the heel of her hand into his lower back, placing the other hand behind the first and alternating pressure as they crawled up his spine. Erik’s shoulders tensed under her, the middle of his back depressing under her touch as his breathing slowed. 

Every so often his shoulders would invert towards his head and she could sense him trying to cover his face up, but it would only last for a few fleeting moments before he succumbed to the pleasure of her caresses. 

Her hands traced up his back, fingers slipping under his shoulder blades and kneading gentle muscles. Erik emitted a small sigh— a sound almost as beautiful as the sweet notes he made when they sang together during her lessons. 

Christine was nearly panting, too, overwhelmed by his proximity and his scent beneath the oil, how lovely it was to feel his body heat under her fingers— how lovely it was to know that he was shivering because of _her_ and making those lovely sounds because of _her_. 

She pressed her thumbs into the back of his neck, rubbing the muscles in opposite directions. Really, though she’d invited him there for the selfish purpose of wanting to touch him like this, his body _was_ stiff; he needed the massage, some sort of tension relief. 

Her forefingers slipped up behind his ears, though she paid mind not to do something that might surprise him, knowing that he did _not_ like surprises where his face was involved. 

“Is this alright?” Christine asked. “May I touch your scalp?” 

Erik froze again, the muscles of his neck and shoulders tensing anew. His hand twitched, rustling the sheets, and he nodded his head. 

She began to slide her hands over his hair, wondering if he could feel anything beneath the wig or if it was really just itchy and bothersome; a barrier preventing him from feeling much. 

“Wait,” he stopped her, voice shaking. Christine stood idly as he moved in the bed. There was a long pause, a soft, crinkling sound— and then he was still. A long moment passed where the two of them remained still in the darkness. “All right,” he said finally in a small voice. 

When her fingers returned to him, Christine realized with shock that he had removed his wig. It was baffling to her that he’d let her touch him like this— it was almost as exposing as letting her see him without his mask, and the mere mention of that was enough to scandalize Erik. 

His scalp was smooth under her hands, small patches of long hairs slipped under her fingertips as she caressed his skin. She rubbed the backs of his ears deftly, wishing that she’d just asked him on a date flat out because obviously she hadn’t been clear enough in her feelings. 

At some point, however, it was Erik’s fault. Really, how much clearer did she need to be? She was practically always grappling for an excuse to be around him, to be touching him (hence this very massage appointment). She had bumped up their weekly lessons to twice a week, and now three times a week— could Erik really have thought that she only wanted to spend time with him to practice her singing? Could he really be that dull? 

Maybe she should just ask him on a real date. There was still time, after all— at the end of the appointment, after he’d made himself decent again and when they were in the hallway together before parting. She could ask him to get tea with her. 

Only, Christine began to wonder— maybe… maybe Erik just didn’t share her feelings. Could that be the case? Could it be that she’d been misreading sign after sign, all throughout the duration of their friendship? The roses, the compliments, his soft body language after each of their shared touches. Was it possible that every bit of it was… platonic? 

Christine stifled a sigh. Enough was enough; this had been going on for the upward of a year and a half now— it was time to bite the proverbial bullet and find out how exactly Erik felt about her. There was the possibility that he didn’t share her feelings and that he didn’t want to engage in a more-than-friendly relationship with her— and Christine had been struggling with that anxiety for quite a while now— but she owed it to herself to stop stressing about it, and so she decided that at the end of the appointment she would tell him directly how she felt. 

Christine angled his head slightly to the side, reaching under his neck to change techniques when a slippery wetness seeped into her fingers. Her immediate thought was that it was blood on her fingers— that something horrible had happened— but then, as she returned to reality, she noticed that he was trembling. 

He was _crying!_ And _trembling!_ Christine was horrified; had she hurt him? Maybe her touch had been too hard, and he hadn’t said anything? Or maybe she had pushed him too hard about the mask, and now he was embarrassed. 

“Erik,” she breathed, pulling her hands back from him, “did I hurt you? I’m so sorry! Was it the pressure is it your mask?” 

An awful sound emerged from him, a small high-pitched sound that made her heart ache— _nothing_ like his usual angelic lulling. 

“I’m so sorry, Erik,” Christine repeated, completely unsure of what to do. As he whined she thought that she’d begin to cry as well. How terribly wrong this day had gone! Boners on the table were normal, and sleeping as well, maybe even a couple of tears, but he was positively weeping. “I never meant to hurt you,” she offered, voice small. 

The bedsheets rustled as he moved, whether to wipe his tears or put his mask on or both, she wasn’t entirely sure. 

She fumbled in the darkness for his hand, placing hers carefully over it— only that only seemed to make him shake harder, so she took it back. 

“No, Christine,” said Erik, making another audible wheezing sound. “It’s not your fault. I suppose that I haven’t received this much attention since... well... ever. I’ll be fine.” 

_Ever_ , she thought sadly. He hadn’t received this much attention _ever_ , and she had been pushing him too hard!

“I was just about finished, anyway,” she said, her heart pounding as she rubbed the massage oil off on her pants. “The final area was supposed to be a gentle face massage, but I… suppose that you’ll opt out of that.”

She waited. He didn’t respond. 

“Right,” said Christine, more disappointed than she’d expected to be by his silence. By the whole day, really; by the fact that he apparently still couldn’t discern that she had feelings for him even during this massage, or he simply didn’t return her feelings, and by the fact that she’d been so selfish and manipulative that she had pushed him too far and _hurt_ him! “If you’d like to put your mask back on, I’ll turn on the lights again and wait outside while you dress.” 

“Wait,” Erik interjected, his voice faltering. 

The song on the speaker ended, leaving them a few long moments to listen to each other’s heartbeats before the mellow piano notes began to dance across the walls and filled their ears anew. 

“Would you do that?” he asked, so quietly she almost didn’t hear. 

_Would she touch his face_. 

“Yes,” she breathed. “I would.” This could be her chance to make everything better, Christine thought. She just needed him to be vulnerable for one minute and let her touch his face and then he would know that she wasn’t revolted by his appearance at _all_ as he thought she was. Then he’d know, and maybe he wouldn’t be so scared...

Another pause. He let out a sniffle. 

“Are you certain?” Erik’s delicate voice began to shake. “I don’t want you to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with, of course, and I know that—”

“I don’t mind,” said Christine. 

“But—“ 

“I _want_ to,” said Christine. The longer Erik hesitated to say anything, the bigger her mortification grew. “I’m sorry— what I meant was—”

“Christine... perhaps we should end the appointment here,” he said, voice small enough to make her heart crack, sharp enough to make it shatter into a hundred pieces. 

Could that really be what he wanted? Moments ago, he was almost ready to let himself be vulnerable! In a way that he’d never been vulnerable before! And she had ruined it because she had been too eager. 

Christine forced herself to hold back a sigh— a big sigh. A sigh that embodied months of this same ordeal, months of him slamming the door. For God’s sake, she had already _seen_ his face! She already knew what he looked like behind the mask, and he already knew that she knew, and he was so determined to be unaccepted. 

“All right,” Christine bit her lip, making herself be polite as hard as it was with her patience hanging on by the very last thread, “I’ll wait outside for you to dress. Is your mask back on? I’ll turn on the light.”

She gave him the small, dimly lit room and waited on the opposite wall, her arms folded, fingernails digging into the flesh of her arm as she stood. 

A few minutes later, the door pushed open, his fingers revealing themselves first, and then his body, all dressed up as always. His blazer was open, dress shirt tousled— the outfit did not make her heart’s resistance easy. The cuffs of his white shirtsleeves were undone as well— the oil had likely made his skin a bit denser than usual as it was, well, _oil_. 

Erik’s eyes were soft, a melting pot of fatigue and guilt… and sorrow. 

Seeing him look so beaten made her stomach ache.

He opened his mouth to speak but she put her hand out. 

“Listen, Erik,” Christine moved off of the wall, straightening, “I’m sorry about being short with you in there.”

His malformed lips twisted, “That’s—”

“It’s just that... I’ve wanted to have a date with you for months now. Really, I’m not sure how much clearer I can be— the extra lessons, the hugs, the kisses,” she felt her cheeks _blaze_ at the mention of their kisses. “I was going to ask you to get tea, but at this point… I’m not sure whether you’re not understanding my signals, or if I’m misreading yours… to be something more than they are.” 

His mismatched eyes went big with panic behind the mask, swelling with more emotion that she’d ever witnessed in him before. 

“Tea,” Erik breathed, toying with the buttons on one cufflink. “You’d like to get… _tea_. With _me?_ ” 

Christine nodded, every muscle jittering with catharsis after her admission. 

“I would love to get tea with you, Christine. When were you thinking?” 

“You would?” she asked, her heart beginning to race again. “I’m free... now,” said Christine. “My lunch starts in...” she glanced at the clock, “eight minutes. I have to strip the room and then we can go, if you want to.” 

“I can wait for you in the lobby.” 

“Okay,” she nodded, nearly uncomprehending, stuck in a state of shock. 

Erik tipped his hat towards her, “I’ll be out there.” He started to walk away. 

“Wait!” Christine yelped, making him turn back around with both hands on his waist. “Wait,” she said, leaning up on her tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips before he knew what was coming. 

**Author's Note:**

> aghghg this is the first time I’ve written a non-asoiaf work so yay for branching out to another fandom <3 hope it was enjoyable! 
> 
> thanks so much for reading :)


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